


For Dreaming and for Dancing

by ReaderWriterPoet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, But the first chapter is pretty much FLUFF..., Captain John Watson, Homecoming, M/M, Smut in the second chapter only..., Soldier!John, ballet!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaderWriterPoet/pseuds/ReaderWriterPoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is retiring from the stage and only one thing is absent- his boyfriend of seven years, Captain John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Knew it Now

**Author's Note:**

> This hit me at three in the morning when I should have been working on 'Harem'. I can't help it though, I have a secret weakness for ballet!lock and soldier!John. The first chapter is fluff and the second chapter is sex and flirting.

Sherlock removed his practice slippers and stretched and flexed his sore toes. Pulling his sweat-drenched tank top off and slipping out of his leggings. The recoil of the fabric as it snapped off of his ankles caused a splatter of sweat to flick onto the old tile floor of his private dressing room. Sherlock, as a principle dancer for the Royal Ballet, was allowed his own dressing room. One of the driving forces for becoming a principle dancer- apart from the ambition of mastering his craft- was to get away from the other dancers. However, at this moment, one had followed him into his room.

Irene Adler, a female principle dancer for the company, was sitting on Sherlock's black leather couch, smoking a cigarette and flinging off her pointe shoes into a cluttered corner. Apart from a path from door to vanity mirror to couch, Sherlock's dressing room floor was nonexistent; magazines, shoes, leotards and leggings, as well as an assortment of makeup paraphernalia littered the floor. Irene's shoes disappeared into the abyss as she lounged on the dark leather, wisps of smoke curling into the air.

"So-," Irene took another drag from her cigarette before pursing her lips to expel the inhaled smoke. "Is your boyfriend coming to see your last show before you retire?"

Sherlock froze in the mirror where he was washing his face with a moist towlette.

"He couldn't get the leave," he muttered before returning to his motions, which were more aggressive than earlier. "And I'm not retiring Irene, just leaving the stage lights to younger bodies. I've already been offered a senior instructors position at the Royal Ballet School, and I've already started working on the choreography of my own ballet. Once I've left, I'll have time to actually write it up; maybe you'll be performing it in a few years, if you're still planning on dancing until you drop that is."

"Someone's cranky," Irene smirked at Sherlock's reflection. When he clenched his hand on the edge of his table her smirk lessened.

"I am sorry that John couldn't come Sherlock," a quiet filled the air. "But I would gladly dance anything that comes from that brilliant mind of yours. She stubbed out her cigarette and stood to place a kiss on Sherlock's lips. Sherlock allowed it only for the taste of nicotine, moaning as she left.

"You want one?" Irene offered.

"No- I want nothing to ruin this last performance. No smoking for me until the curtain closes."

"How tragic," Irene joked. "Dinner?"

"Sorry. I have plans," Sherlock replied.

"Well, until tomorrow, Prince Ivan." Irene dipped into a courtly bow.

Sherlock through a shoe at her receding figure, but it bounced off of the door as she quickly snapped it shut.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Sherlock waited impatiently as his laptop screen remained blank. Sitting in his living room waiting for John to call was a study in madness. John was never strictly punctual with his correspondence, but usually when he scheduled a video chat it was set in relative stone. You were placed on a waiting list for weeks before you were granted a one-hour slot.

That one-hour slot had ended four hours ago. Yet Sherlock still waited on the hopes of hearing an alert sound on his laptop.

An alert did eventually sound. But it was the sound of an incoming email, not a video chat.

_Nasty business at the base. Wi-Fi is down. Minimal communications allowed. No one hurt, just a bit of a dust storm. Can't call you tonight Sher- sorry._   
_All my love, John_

Sherlock bowed his head and silently let tears fall. His last professional performance on stage; not only could he not get his boyfriend of seven years to be there, but he couldn't even get him on the bloody line.

John had been able to come to his first performance at the Royal Ballet when he had danced principal in Swan Lake. John had always promised to do his best to be at the important markers. He had been at his first principle performance, and had hoped to be at Sherlock's last. With his career ending so near John's end of tour date, John hadn't been able to justify being able to take leave when he had only three months left. Living seven years apart had been hard; harder than Sherlock would have thought possible due to his anti-social personality. But every airport farewell to John hurt worse than the last; and finally, after ten years of dedicated service and multiple tours, John had finally agreed to make his current tour his last one.

But it would still be too late for John to take part in an important part of Sherlock's life. Sherlock would just have to face the stage as he had so many times before; _alone_.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
Sherlock gasped and exhaled harshly as the last spin was spun and the last turn was turned. He gracefully joined the other dancers to bow at the audience before the principle cast stepped forward to bow again separately.

Mr. Simmons, the theatre owner, stepped forward with a microphone, coming center stage and causing a hush to fall throughout the theatre.

"Tonight, we say goodnight and farewell for the last time to one of our principle dancers. He has grown up in the shadow of this theatre, he has toiled and trained, he has performed gracefully for six long years. We will miss his presence on the stage, but we know that he will continue to influence this company as he goes on to train the next generation of dancers. We at the company wish you Sherlock, a long career with us at the Royal Ballet School, and we thank you for your many years as an artist. Your ambition and commitment to your art has been unparalleled, and this stage will never forget you."

The crowd erupted and whistled. Cheers and flashes assaulted Sherlock's senses as Irene bought him forward to bow and then handed him his final bouquet. Sherlock smiled at his old dance partner and accepted her kiss upon his cheek. Turning once again to bow thrice at the audience and shake Mr. Simmons hand.

Thus ended the principle career of William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

In the wings, he was assaulted by well-wishing understudies and dancers and stage hands wanting to shake his hand or say goodbye. Irene stood at his side for a time before turning at the gesture of a stage hand.

Returning her focus to Sherlock she stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "I'll be waiting for you in the shower." She winked flirtatiously and- hopefully- jokingly before racing off in the direction of his dressing room. Sherlock could only sigh at her continued ridiculousness.

Extricating himself, he took a final walk down the hall before opening his room. From the bathroom, the water from the shower hit the tile floor. From the oscillating sounds, Irene had actually jumped into his shower.

"Irene, I can't believe you actually-"

The path to his bathroom had been cleared and had a trail of clothing leading to the cracked door.

Sherlock quickly ran forward; leotard, shoes, and all. He opened the door and stared into the glass panes of the shower. Bare skin and a muscled rear were unobstructed from his view. A golden hand raked through short equally golden hair.

"Sorry to meet you here and not in the wings, Sher. But the entire performance I kept getting hints that I'm not exactly the freshest daisy in the field. My flight from Kandahar was miserable. I was supposed to surprise you last night but there was a delay in Berlin because of some snow storm and I-"

Sherlock stripped off his costume quickly, not bothering that it was cast away limp on the floor. He rushed into the shower and plastered his sweat soaked body onto John's. John's arms came around him and Sherlock could only shake with happiness.

"You came. How did you- I thought you couldn't. What did- You didn't sign up for another tour just to come home now did you?" Sherlock demanded.

John laughed brilliantly before pulling Sherlock by the hair into their first kiss in almost ten months.

"I got a soft posting at a recruitment office for my last three months. I found out eight weeks ago, after you asked if I could make your final show and I told you I couldn't get it off." John smirked at Sherlock's dumbfounded expression.

"But, why didn't you-,"

"Tell you? And miss out on seeing this face? Never." John pecked Sherlock's lips again and again.

"So you saw?"

"Your last performance? Yeah- brilliant as always love." Looking down at Sherlock's semi-nude body he smirked again.

"Thank god they never have you dance in this," John tugged at the band of Sherlock's dancebelt. "I never would have gotten a ticket. As it was, I had to beg your  
brother to find one last minute."

"But your email said-"

"I gave my password to Murray as well as a pre-written message. He sent it to you at a prearranged time but I was already on a plane coming to you love." John wiped two tears from the corner of Sherlock's eyes. "Nothing can stop me, you know that."

If Sherlock didn't know it before, he surely knew it now.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*


	2. Look Away Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2... the SMUT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short... it turned into more of an exercise in smut than anything... sorry if I disappoint.

John pulled on Sherlock's dancebelt. The band snapping against the skin of Sherlock's arse, wet from sweat and the water from the shower. Kneeling behind Sherlock, John lingered to kiss, lave, and then suck bruises into the firm flesh of Sherlock's rear. Sherlock moaned at the sensation and leaned on his forearms against the shower wall. Water hit his shoulders and sluiced down his back. John's hands steadied his hips before grabbing his cheeks and squeezing firmly. John slowly spread them apart, using his tongue to roughly lick from sacrum over his hole and down to suck on his balls. Sherlock gasped at the sensation, setting his feet apart even wider.

"So beautiful," John murmured as he followed the trail back up, extending it to kiss the knobs of his vertebrae and the skin of his neck before circling the shell of his ear. John had prided himself on finding every sensitive spot on Sherlock, sucking on his ears and neck being incredibly arousing during foreplay.

"John," Sherlock gasped. "I want you-"

John roughly turned Sherlock to face him, speaking in his Captain Voice.

"You don't want me," Sherlock groaned in denial before John grasped his prick firmly and began to pump steadily while reaching to fondle his balls. "You {need} me."

"Yes." Sherlock said as John pumped. "Yes. Yes. Yes. YES!"

John pumped as Sherlock orgasmed, milking his cock until Sherlock nearly collapsed from the expense of energy.

Once he regained enough energy to stand alone, John quietly washed his body before kicking him out to do a quick army scrub down as the water in the pipes turned cold. John's erection slowly went away as Sherlock sat on the toilet wrapped in a towel.

John came out and smiled at his lover, using the one remaining towel to dry his hair, unashamed and unabashed with his nudity.

"So I here you're a teacher." Sherlock looked up as John spoke. "That could be kinky," John continued jokingly.

"I'd rather play doctor, Doctor." Sherlock smiled.

"Well then we better head home," John kissed Sherlock's lips and then finished drying off.

Sherlock made sure to swat his receding arse with his towel.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*


End file.
